


Confessions in a Can

by imel



Category: British Actor RPF, Harrison Osterfield - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Licking, Oral Sex, Whipped Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imel/pseuds/imel
Summary: Admitting your feelings to Harrison with help from some whipped cream.





	Confessions in a Can

You had a problem. The problem had a name. Its name was Harrison Osterfield.

After meeting Harrison while he was walking one of your new favorite dogs, the sweet and adorable Monty, you became fast friends.

Your attraction to him was immediate. He was insanely hot. You’d have to be blind not to notice that. Hell, he was technically a male model, even though he was quick to remind you that he was an actor first and foremost when you teased him about it.

Although you knew you weren’t the best flirt, you’d tried subtly flirting with him. He was either not interested and didn’t know how to tell you, or completely clueless. Maybe you needed to be less subtle, but you definitely needed to be braver first.

It was a lazy weekend, and you were hanging out with Harrison, as had become what you usually did in the past few months.

"I'm going to the kitchen. Want anything?" he asked, getting up from the sofa and grabbing his empty glass off the coffee table. 

"I'm good, thanks," you replied, half-watching the game on the TV.

He returned soon after with a bottle of beer and a can of whipped cream. After he put the beer bottle on the coffee table, he uncapped the whipped cream and sprayed it into his mouth. 

You laughed. "Jesus, are you ten, Harrison?"

He grinned over at you, making a show of tipping his head back and squirting more in his mouth. "What? It's good!"

You noticed some had gotten on his neck. "Hey, you got some on you."

"Where?" he asked. 

"I'll get it." You weren’t sure what it was, but you felt braver in that moment then you had in the past. It was time to leave no questions to your intentions. 

You leaned over to bring your lips to Harrison's neck, tongue running slowly and thoroughly over his skin, cleaning off the sweet whipped cream. 

When you pulled back and looked at his face, his eyes were widened, and he raised his eyebrows. "What was that?" 

"Just helping a friend out with a little problem," you responded. 

"More like making a not so little one," he muttered. 

You glanced down at his sweatpants, the outline of his erection obvious through the fabric. You smirked, grabbing the can of whipped cream from him, and sprayed some on his arm. 

He laughed. "Hey! What are you doing?" 

Instead of responding, you moved to lick the whipped cream off of his skin.

"Oh, you're doing that. Alright.” He took a breath. “We should probably talk before we do this.”

"Sorry, my mouth is busy,” you told him.

He smiled. "No, it's not."

“Yes, it is.” You sprayed more whipped cream further up on his arm, close to the sleeve of his jersey, taking longer to lick it off this time. 

When you were done, you played with the hem of his jersey, hand slipping underneath to brush against his toned stomach, the way you’d always wanted to do when you’d seen him shirtless.

He tensed underneath your touch, but didn't stop you. "I'm still not entirely sure what's going on here, and again, we are going to talk about it later, but I take it you want me to take my shirt off for whatever it is we’re doing right now?" 

Instead of answering with words, you simply nodded.

He tugged the jersey over his head and dropped it on the sofa next to him, looking at you expectantly.

You licked your lips and dropped to your knees in front of him, making space for yourself between his spread legs.

His eyes were locked on you as you sprayed another line of whipped cream over his chest.

Your tongue traced patterns over his skin as you licked up the whipped cream. You gently bit down on one of his pecs and started sucking it.

“Hey, no marks,” he warned. “Going to the beach on Monday.”

You stopped, a little disappointed, and moved to flick one of his nipples with your tongue. Your teeth grazed over the hardening nub.

“Shit,” he groaned.

As an afterthought, you placed a glob of whipped cream over the other nipple before you attacked it with your mouth, not stopping until the last hint of sweetness was gone from his skin.

His abs were the next place you put the whipped cream, outlining them.

Whipped cream or no, you’d always wanted to lick his abs. Honestly, most women probably wanted to lick his abs, especially after all the thirst trap shirtless photos he posted on social media. You’d never tell him, but you had pretty much all of his sexy photos saved for when you spent time quality time with your battery-operated boyfriend.

You eagerly followed the trail of whipped cream over the firm muscles, appreciating the time he put in at the gym.

Next up on your trail down his torso was his belly button. It wasn’t something you’d admit aloud because you found it weird, at least not unless you were well on your way to drunk, but you found his belly button sexy.

After surrounding it with what was probably too much whipped cream, you swirled your tongue over and around his navel, paying extra attention to it long after the whipped cream was gone.

You placed one hand on his sweatpants near the waistband, other still holding the can of whipped cream, and looked up to meet his eyes, waiting for permission.

“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead,” he encouraged.

Your hand was a bit shaky with nervousness when you freed his cock from the confines of his sweatpants and boxers.

You took a moment to appreciate the sight and feel of it in your hand. He was a little longer than average, a good, sturdy thickness. If he let you, and you very much hoped he would, you knew he’d fill you up nicely.

Before he questioned why you were sitting there staring at his dick, you covered it partially with whipped cream, but the can hissed, spraying just air, before you were completely done.

With a shrug, you put the empty can on the coffee table, and licked a long stripe through the whipped cream from your hand up to the tip. You were quick to take him in your mouth and clean up the rest of the whipped cream with your tongue.

When you started licking and sucking him in earnest, he moaned loudly. His hands tangled in your hair. He gently guided you over his cock, definitely gentler than he had to be, careful not to make you gag or tug on your hair too hard. Even lost in pleasure, he was sweet.

“Gonna cum soon, love,” he warned you.

You sucked on him harder in response, bobbing your head faster.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he spilled into your mouth in several long spurts.

You swallowed and pulled back, cleaning him thoroughly with little kitten licks as he softened.

“Too bad we’re out of whipped cream,” he commented, still a little breathless.

“Sorry you didn’t get much,” you apologized.

He chuckled. “I’m not, but it would be nice to return the favor. I guess I don’t technically need whipped cream to do that, though.”

“You want to do that?” you asked, surprised.

“I know you. You’re not that daft, darling.” He smiled brightly down at you, and your heart skipped a beat. “Now, come on. Let’s go to my room before one of the guys walks in on us, yeah?”

“One of the guys already heard you in there and chose not to walk in on you,” you heard a voice call from the kitchen. “It’s about damn time, too. You’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now. Tom owes me £50. He was sure you two were already fucking.”


End file.
